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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518949">Childhoods</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightOilDiary/pseuds/MidnightOilDiary'>MidnightOilDiary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, Eventual Happy Ending, Illustrations</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 10:55:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightOilDiary/pseuds/MidnightOilDiary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Astrid Atwater:  Orphan, hunter, fugitive, hero.  She rose to fame and fortune at the Dragonborn's side, but what twists of fate brought this young woman to rugged Skyrim Province?  </p><p>This is her story.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Childhoods, Part I</h1><h3>Hard Rain</h3><p>"Might I sleep here?" the young woman asked the innkeeper. She was thin, dressed in a damp and muddy tunic and breeches. Her matted hair was dark and tied in a loose bun. She carried a bow on her back, a dagger in her belt, and a leather bag over her shoulder. The innkeeper took her for a hunter seeking shelter against the growing cold, darkness, and approaching rain, but he couldn't quite understand what she was saying.</p><p>“Might you <em>vad?</em>” the innkeeper said. The young woman mimed sleeping. “Oho,” he exclaimed. “<em>Sova!</em> Su-lipp! You are south person!” The young woman shuddered, then, composing herself, grinned shyly. She hadn’t anticipated the dialect change, but this was the first person she’d spoken to in some days. The man smiled. “Sulipp? <em>Tvo</em> schilling.”</p><p>“One schilling,” said the young woman.</p><p>“<em>Tvo</em> – two schillings!” said the man, remembering southern talk, but apparently losing patience.</p><p>The young woman reached into her bag and retrieved a rabbit carcass. “One schilling and – plus…rabbit!”</p><p>“Plus <em>hare</em>?” He inspected the carcass, which seemed fresh enough. “Deal!” he said, taking a coin and the rabbit. He pointed to his left. “Racks there! Oho!”</p><p>The young woman stifled another shudder, then asked, “Can one bathe here?” She mimed washing.</p><p>The man responded with a yell. “Sigi!” Sigi was a powerful-looking middle-aged woman who arrived with an armload of plates and an annoyed countenance, which melted when she saw the young woman. “Poor child! Poor sad child! What happened to you?” she cried, looking her up and down. “Skinny! Dirty! You come, poor sad child!” She took the young woman by the hand and dragged her to the cellar before she had a chance to argue.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Two hours later, the young woman found herself alone, lying on a straw mattress, cleaner and fuller than she’d been in ages. First was the huge, steaming washtub Sigi had ordered her into. Sigi emptied the contents of a small satchel into the water, which began to bubble and foam. “<em>Magisk!</em>” said Sigi, winking. The young woman didn’t know if it was magic or not, but it made the bath smell like lavender. Then came supper: stew with fried cornmeal mush. Sigi made sure the young woman consumed every bit.</p><p>Sigi had a fire going, and the young woman’s clothes were drying on a rack by the fireplace. The young woman was wearing an old robe, presumably Sigi’s, which was much too big for her. She was exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come. The clomping of footsteps above her had grown more frequent, and the subdued conversations had become louder. Only when she crept upstairs behind the bar could she hear the wind howling outside, rattling the shutters. Sigi spotted her coming up. “Not sleeping? Scary storm, eh?” she said. “Cold rain! Hard rain! <em>Isstorm!</em>”</p><p>It really was an ice storm, and the young woman was scared. She was afraid the wind and sleet would tear the roof off. The inn was more crowded now – men and women, all ages. She sensed they were there more for mutual support than celebration. It was certainly better to wait out a storm with company than to suffer alone. Someone produced a lute and started a rousing folk tune that everyone seemed to know. As the patrons sang and clapped, two muddy farmers started to dance in the middle of the room. The storm’s rage increased, the wind making an eerie cry as it demanded admittance. The young woman searched for a cheerful face, but even with the singing and dancing, everyone looked as grim as she was terrified.</p><p>Sigi seemed to sense the young woman’s fear. “You go back down,” Sigi said. “Try sleeping. When storm go, you help me.” The young woman didn’t need to be told twice. Lonely as it was, the cellar seemed safer than upstairs. And in this weather, nobody was likely to be looking for her. She was safe for tonight, at least.</p>
<h3>
  <em>Diamanten!</em>
</h3><p>The young woman went back to the cellar and curled up on the mattress. This inn had seen worse storms before, she insisted to herself, and stayed upright. Not like before, far away, when a five-year-old girl felt herself scooped into her mother’s arms as they fled their house and village by the riverside. She’d never felt such wind, and it was raining so hard that she could barely see her house over her mother’s shoulder. She remembered her mother running through water, her father and brothers not far behind. Then she remembered being passed to someone else, someone with strong hands, as her mother cried, “Go, go! Divines keep you!”</p><p>The fire had died down by the time the young woman awoke. She sat up and looked around, trying to remember where she was. When she saw her clothes on the drying rack, yesterday came back to her. She dressed quickly, found her bag and her bow, and quietly crept upstairs. Someone had started a new fire in the main room; light was seeping through cracks in the shutters. And Sigi was waiting for her. “Oh, sad, skinny girl from South!” she cried. “You go already?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>“I go today,” said the young woman. “I have to.”</p><p>“But why go now? The storm is gone. Divines bless us with <em>diamanten</em> – diamonds! Come! Look!” Sigi led the young woman outside to the porch. The air was cold but still, and the early morning sky was clear. Sigi was right: Everything the young woman saw was covered by a thin patina of ice. Ice on the porch railings. Ice on the street. Ice crunching beneath her feet. Icicles large and small hanging from the eaves of every building. And all the ice shining in the morning sun really was a spectacular sight, though she was sure it wouldn’t last through midday. “You see?” said Sigi. “Very beautiful. You stay and enjoy!”</p><p>“You are very kind,” said the young woman, her voice breaking a little. “But I have no more money.”</p><p>“No more <em>guld?</em> No coin?” Sigi pondered for a moment, then her face brightened. “Yesterday you bring us, um, rabbit, right?” The young woman nodded. “Maybe you bring us more rabbit. Maybe you catch <em>fisk,</em> um, fish, right? You can be useful!”</p><p>The young woman considered the offer. Could she hunt? She wasn’t an expert, but she knew enough. Could she fish? If she had to. Was it wise to stay in one place? That was the question. It was impossible to say whether she would be safer hiding in a village than moving in the open, but it might be prudent to rest here a little while in any case. And Sigi seemed to like her, so she probably wouldn’t go hungry. “Thank you,” the young woman said. “Maybe a few days. I will find food for you.”</p><p>“Good! You stay here, hunt, fish. Maybe I make you not so skinny!” The young woman smiled at the thought. Sigi said, “One more fra, um, question I have: What should I call you?”</p><p>The young woman paused. Sigi seemed trustworthy enough, but better to play it safe. “Astrid,” she said. “Please call me Astrid.”</p><p>The preceding days hadn’t left her much time to properly maintain her bow or sharpen her hunting knife, so the young woman sat at the bar to inspect her equipment. And to reflect. Astrid? When was the last time anyone called me that, the young woman thought. When five-year-old Astrid was delivered to the abbey, she’d been too frightened and bewildered to speak, much less say her own name. Everything just happened so quickly! She found herself fed, clothed, sheltered, and living with other children, whom she was told were her new brothers and sisters. And the women who cared for them were called “Sisters” as well. How confusing! Somewhere, in all the chaos, the little girl found herself with a new name. Everyone called her “Frida.”</p><p>As the little girl they called Frida grew up, she began to understand more. The storm that swept away her family and her village destroyed several other villages, too. Her brothers and sisters in the abbey were orphans just like she was, raised there on the order of Lord Hakkon, who, horrified at the disaster, ordered the abbey to look after any unclaimed children, and teach them the useful skills they would have learned at home.</p><p>For the girl called Frida, “useful skills” started with gathering eggs in the abbey’s henhouse, weeding the abbey garden and the like, while other orphans helped out on local farms or learned trades. As she grew older, she began to work in the abbey kitchen, where she made a friend of an awkward, rather round boy she called Babyface. Babyface was assigned to the baker, and, despite his clumsiness everywhere else, was perfectly at home among the ovens. The two spent a lot of time together even when they weren’t doing chores. While the Sisters encouraged the children to refer to each other as siblings, the girl began to think of Babyface as blood relation, and she was sure the boy felt the same way.</p><p>The young woman wondered how much Babyface worried about her. She hoped they weren’t too rough on him. She deliberately avoided telling him which way she was going, so he could honestly say he didn’t know. <em>Put those thoughts aside,</em> she told herself. <em>There’s no time for them now.</em></p><p>She left the inn mid-morning, and didn’t return until close to sundown, with a fine turkey she took with a single lucky shot. She thought that would pay her night’s bed and board, and it did. That gave her another night to rest, to plan, and perhaps another day to repay Sigi’s kindness.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>To be continued...</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Childhoods, Part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h2>Childhoods, Part II</h2><h3>Advent of a Hunter</h3><p>Astrid turned out to be a decent hunter – the turkey was just the start.  She set out snares and caught a few rabbits.  One day, she managed a pair of pheasants.  She even shot a deer, though she had to fetch one of the local boys to help her drag it back to the village.  What was more, Sigi appreciated her efforts very much, and Astrid seemed to be putting on a little weight.  She didn’t consider herself to be a skilled archer, but she was competent enough to keep everyone happy.</p><hr/><p>It had started a few years ago, when she was about fifteen.  It was a dry summer.  Boys returning from the fields said the farmers were fretting about their crops.  The Sisters worried about the well running dry.  Deer, goats, and other game began moving on to better climates, making the predators bolder and more desperate.  When wolves attacked sheep in the pasture, the young orphan shepherd barely escaped with his life.  The Abbess decided that, although their order rejected weapons generally, children working in the fields or pastures should somehow be armed.  Local farmers and nearby villagers managed to donate a few axes.  Baron Rolf, the richest man around, provided funds to buy some bows and arrows.  While neither the young lady called Frida nor Babyface spent much time outside the abbey, they were required to learn the bow, too.</p><p>Using a bow properly was harder than it looked!  Young Frida was surprised at how much strength it took just to pull the bowstring back.  After a couple of lessons from one of Lord Hakkon’s men, she and Babyface began practicing on their own in the yard outside the kitchen, using a bail of straw as a target.</p><p>After a few weeks, both of them could hit the target, or near it, dependably.  Babyface considered that a success, as he viewed archery as a duty, but ultimately something that interfered with baking and learning letters and numbers.  Frida wasn’t satisfied, though, and kept practicing.  She knew she needed more strength, so she took on additional chores, like chopping firewood, to build up her muscles.  From a safe distance, Babyface cheered her on.  He fashioned her a fancier target from some scrap wood, complete with a picture of a snarling wolf for her to aim at.  “I’ll make you an apricot tart if you hit it!” he said.</p><p>She got her apricot tart.</p><p>One morning late that summer, Frida was in the kitchen preparing for her chores when she was alarmed by commotion in the chicken coop.  The hens seemed more disturbed than normal, and she thought she heard sniffing and panting, as if some other animal were prowling out there.  She went to the window, and peeking through the shutters, saw a wolf trying to squeeze into the henhouse!  She considered calling for help, but she knew there was no time.  Maybe she and Babyface could chase the wolf away, but that would put both of them at risk, and she didn’t want Babyface injured.  And even if they succeeded in driving the wolf off, it would only come back.</p><p>The wolf had to go.</p><p>She removed her bow and quiver from their hook on the kitchen wall.  She tried to set up a shot from the window, but she couldn’t get a proper angle.  It was no use; she would have to go outside.  She opened the door as quietly as she could, and crept out.  From the door, she had a reasonable shot.  If she took three steps to the right, it might be better.  She nocked an arrow, and sidled slowly, praying the wolf wouldn’t hear.  The wolf was still pawing at the henhouse door as she began drawing the bowstring.  It would have been an easy shot if the wind hadn’t changed, if the wolf hadn’t picked up her scent, shifted, and sprung at her all in one fluid movement.</p><p>“Frida!  Frida!”  She heard Babyface and the Sisters calling her name.  She felt like she was being crushed and smothered.  Something wet dripped down her neck.  “Get it off her!” someone yelled.  The weight lifted away; she could breathe easier.  “Frida!  Are you hurt?”  Babyface seemed almost in a panic.  She tried to get up.  The Abbess’s hand eased her back down. “The wolf is dead,” she said, she said sternly.  “We are very lucky you are alive.”  The Abbess began poking and probing the young lady’s body, checking for injuries.  “You are covered in blood,” she said, “but it does not appear to be yours.”  Babyface and the Abbess helped her sit up.  She glanced to her left.  The wolf carcass was lying on its back.  Her arrow had pierced its neck, which accounted for the blood soaking her dress.  She saw her bow lying in the dust to her right, still in one piece.  The Abbess directed one Sister to prepare a bath, while another went off in search of something to replace the ruined dress.  Babyface helped the young lady up, and led her back inside.</p><p>It started to rain hard that afternoon.</p><p>The rest of the summer was wet, too.  While the harvest wasn’t great, it was far better than people had feared, and when the surrounding villages put on their autumn festivals, people had reason to celebrate.   These festivals naturally featured markets as well as celebrations, so the Abbess sent Frida and Babyface to the closest one with a shopping list and a little extra money for a treat.  The pair always enjoyed these journeys, though they were becoming a little bittersweet.  When they were younger, most of the orphans would make the trip.  Lately, though, their number was dwindling as the older orphans grew up and found positions in farms, skilled trades, and the like.  At the festival, they spotted a young cobbler occupying a small booth, and recognized him as one of their former “brothers.”  The cobbler remembered both of them as well.  “It’s Frida the wolf-killer,” he smiled, “your reputation rides ahead of you!  What is it now?  As many as ten wolves?”</p><p>The young lady blushed while Babyface tried to hide a scowl.  “Only one!” she laughed, “And it nearly squashed me!”  But she enjoyed the attention, and as they walked away, she turned and saw the cobbler still smiling at her.  She smiled back.  To repair Babyface’s bruised ego, she bought him a happy yam.</p><p>It was late in the afternoon when Astrid returned to the inn.  She’d snared another rabbit, and was able to get a clear shot at a goose.  Sigi would be sure to appreciate the day’s haul, she thought, but when she opened the door, she saw Sigi sitting at one of the tables, staring at her somberly.  “Astrid, someone has come here from the south,” Sigi said, “to visit you.”  Astrid then spotted the man rising from a seat by the fireplace.  He was one of the tallest men she’d ever seen, with a dark complexion, wearing loose fitting red trousers, a grey tunic, and a cape.  He raised an eyebrow when he met her gaze, as if he’d caught a child doing something naughty.</p><p>“Hello, Frida,” he said.</p><p> </p><h3>What Happened to Baron Axel</h3><p>“I am Armand,” said the man.  “You and I have much to discuss.”</p><p>Suddenly, Astrid felt very, very cold.  She could see no possible escape.  The man had tracked her as far as this village; no doubt he could track her wherever she went.  He was far too large to overpower, and even if he wasn’t, she didn’t want to fight in front of Sigi.</p><p>Sigi – that was the worst part of it.  She’d drug Sigi into all this.  She’d let Sigi down.</p><p>“You, you’re going to kill me now?” the young woman trembled.  Sigi looked equally troubled, her mouth slightly agape, tears forming in her eyes.  Her husband the innkeeper came up the stairs at that moment, looked in wonderment at the tall man who seemed to occupy the entire inn by himself, and uttered not a word.</p><p>“No, at this moment, I’m going to ask you questions.  I suggest you answer them.”  Armand’s tone made that alternative seem worse, somehow.  “So, Frida the Wolf-Killing Orphan, what, exactly, happened to Baron Axel?”</p><p><em>What happened to Baron Axel</em>, Astrid thought, <em>was exactly what could have happened to me.</em></p><hr/><p>Things were changing at the Abbey.  There weren’t many orphans left, and Frida and Babyface found themselves the eldest of those who remained.  It was time for them to move on, the Abbess said, and find a place in the world.  Babyface had continued his work as a baker, but was equally skilled with writing and numbers.  Lord Hakkon’s steward thought he would make a perfect court scrivener, and could start right after the harvest.</p><p>Frida’s case was more difficult.  The Abbess had always considered her a smart, conscientious girl, well on her way to becoming a responsible young woman.  She had learned to read alongside Babyface, and while she didn’t have Babyface’s patience to copy page upon page of text, she helped the younger children learn.  She had managed the abbey garden for several years now, but there weren’t many farmsteads that needed an additional gardener.  Frida was pretty, friendly, and kind, too.  When she went to the village, young men smiled at her, and she smiled shyly back.  The Abbess knew about all this, but thought Frida was too young for a husband.</p><p>Frida could hunt; that much was true.  The wolf that sprang at her a couple seasons before wasn’t the last one to fall to her bow!  She’d killed at least three more since then.  One fall morning, she had gone to the pasture with the shepherd boy when they were set upon by a trio of wolves.  She shot the first one before it even got close.  The second fell as it looked back at its slain compatriot.  The third escaped, pursued by the shepherd’s dog.  Frida’s final kill came near the village the following spring, when she spied a lone wolf trailing two children on the path to the creek.  Their grateful mother made sure everyone knew about the wonderful girl from the abbey, so Frida found herself somewhat famous.</p><p>But the Abbess didn’t want to send her young charge out into the world as a huntress.  The trouble was, in that region there weren’t many options for a young woman with no family, regardless of her talent.  The only thing the Abbess could do was wait patiently for a good situation.</p><p>She certainly knew there were some bad situations.  One day that summer Frida returned with Babyface from market, looking red-eyed and stricken.  The Abbess sent Babyface to the kitchen and led Frida to the courtyard to listen to her story.  They were at the market, Frida explained, and, having completed the shopping list, they were listening to a minstrel singing a funny, funny song.  After Babyface tossed a coin at the minstrel’s feet, they turned to go, but found their way blocked by an enormous man with a huge, black beard, shaggy black hair, and watery eyes.  He was dressed in tight, dark green trousers, a baggy red shirt, and a black cape trimmed in wolf’s fur.  Behind him were two muscular, sandy-haired men wearing ordinary farmer’s clothes, probably brothers.</p><p>The bearded man looked Frida up and down, grinning.  Frida didn’t like how he was looking at her.  She liked it even less when he clasped her chin with his fat fingers.  “Oho!” he said, chuckling.  “You are the wolf-killer!  I’ve heard about you!  Pretty, pretty girl, but so dangerous?  Oho!”</p><p>“I’m sorry, sir,” Frida said.  “I don’t recall –”</p><p>“Oho!  You don’t know me, but you will!  Everyone knows Baron Axel!”  Baron Axel leaned over and brought his face very close to Frida’s.  “And some people,” he leered, “learn to love him!”  His breath was bad enough to make Frida cringe.  “I could use a wolf-killer at my manor,” he laughed.  “Maybe you come work for me!  Be my chambermaid!”</p><p>“I cannot –“ Frida started, but Baron Axel grabbed her arm.  “You think about this!” he said.  “Oho!  I know you will want to come!”</p><p>“Now just wait!” Babyface interjected.  He tried to push between Frida and Axel, but Axel staggered him with a slap to the ear.</p><p>“Go back to your crib, baby boy,” sneered Axel, “and don’t waste my time!”  He nodded to his bodyguards, and turned to leave.  Looking back at Frida, he said, “Just think!  A life in the manor with Axel!  What more could a pretty girl want?  Oho!”</p><p>“I’ve never seen that man before,” Frida told the Abbess.  She felt safer back at the abbey, but the fear and humiliation lingered.  “Who does he think he is, acting like he owns everything and everyone he sees?”</p><p>“Baron Axel,” said the Abbess.  “I guess he had to return sometime.”  She put her arm around Frida’s shoulders.  “Do you remember about Baron Rolf, who bought all those bows?  He was one of the richest men around here, and highly respected.  His son, Axel, has none of his father’s business sense, and never learned to govern his appetites.  He caused many scandals at his father’s estate, so Rolf sent him abroad, mostly to get him out of the way, I think.  Baron Rolf died last autumn, so it appears the son has arrived to claim the estate.”</p><p>“But what can I do now?” sobbed Frida.  “I can’t go back to the market again.  Not while he’s there!”</p><p>“Please don’t worry,” said the Abbess, holding Frida tighter.  “I will speak with the village headsman.   If he can’t help, I will speak personally to Lord Hakkon.  I’m told he’s had quite enough of Axel’s antics, and might want to put some fear of the Divines in him.”</p><p>Frida felt slightly better after another squeeze from the Abbess.  She wandered into the kitchen, and found Babyface leaning over the cutting-table, sulking.  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.</p><p>She took his hand.  “Why?  Why should you apologize to me?”</p><p>“I wanted to protect you, but I was scared.  I was scared of Baron Axel, and I was scared of those bullies he had with him.”  He slapped the table in frustration.  “I’m not strong or powerful!  I never have been!  You’re my sister, and I’m supposed to do right by you!”</p><p>Frida stroked his hair.  “And you’re my brother.  We look after each other, just as we’ve always done.  But against those three?  Even together we couldn’t have fought them.  You did stand up for me, though, and I think you embarrassed Baron Axel.  That’s why he left.  I should thank you!”  Babyface looked skeptical, but accepted Frida’s hug at the end.  "Just remember, you are my brother.  I am your sister.  Now and always, truly and forever, you are part of me and I am part of you." </p><p>Frida didn’t sleep well that night.  It wasn’t just the day’s fright; it was the anger at having to face Baron Axel in the future.  Surely he’d appear next market day, Lord Hakkon or not.  And even if he kept him at bay, he would still be on the periphery, leering, waiting.  How long must I hide here?</p><p>She didn’t need to hide long.  Three mornings later, she was chopping wood outside the kitchen, the sun at her back.  The morning meal was over; Babyface was off somewhere studying, while the remaining orphans had gone to their chores.  She was alone, working in relative peace when a shadow loomed over her.  She turned to face Baron Axel, who, even without his bully boys, seemed to blot out anything else visible.  “Oho!” he laughed.  “It’s our little wolf-killer!  Have you decided to come with me yet?”</p><p>“Where are your friends?” said Frida.</p><p>“Oh, I told the boys we needed our privacy!”  He tried to stroke her cheek, but she ducked out of the way.  Baron Axel’s brow furrowed.  “What is the matter?” he asked sweetly.  “What will it take to convince you?”</p><p>“Leave me in peace, please,” said Frida, as calmly as she could manage.  <em>Abbess!  Babyface!  Where are you?</em></p><p>“You don’t tell a Baron what to do, girl!” Axel snarled.  He tried to grab her left shoulder, but she twisted away in time, leaving him with a handful of her dress.  She heard the fabric rip, and gasped.  “Don’t you even think of screaming, girl!”  Axel’s voice was now a throaty whisper.  “Who would listen to you, anyway?”</p><p>
  <em>Where is everybody?  Can no-one see what he’s doing?</em>
</p><p>Baron Axel moved in closer.  “I get what I want, in the end,” he said.  “You’ll see.  And then you’ll learn to love me!”  Baron Axel was enjoying himself, enjoying Frida’s fear.  But he wasn’t paying attention.  Frida kicked him in the left knee as hard as she could, her wooden clog making an audible thwop! against his patella.  Baron Axel howled, straightened up, and drew his right hand back for a roundhouse slap.  He’d show that impudent little girl what’s what!</p><p>Which gave Frida the opening she needed.  She grabbed the ax and swung as hard as she could.  Baron Axel couldn’t bring his left hand up quickly enough, and his right was drawn back to strike Frida.  The flat of the ax head caught Baron Axel just above the bridge of his nose, making a sort of hollow sound, like striking a melon.  He stood there for a moment, staring at Frida in surprise, then his eyes crossed and he collapsed.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>TO BE CONTINUED...</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Childhoods, the Conclusion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h3>Justice</h3><p>Baron Axel lay in a twisted pile in front of her.  Frida had the presence of mind not to scream.  <em>I’ve killed him!  I’ve killed the Baron!  I had no choice, but I’ve killed him!  </em>Would anyone believe she was only defending herself?  Who would protect her?  She knew she had to leave.  Even if the Abbess tried to defend her, Frida didn’t want to bring trouble to the Abbey.  Further, she didn’t want Babyface to even try to help her, not when things were looking up for him.  She dropped the axe, and quickly went back into the kitchen.  She found her hunting outfit hanging on its peg and put it on, leaving her torn dress on the kitchen floor.  She grabbed her bow, arrows, hunting knife, and shoulder bag, and took a last look around.  <em>I won’t cry now</em>, she thought.  <em>I can do that later</em>.</p><p>She was almost out the door when she saw Babyface come in from the chapter room.  “What’s wrong?  Why are you dressed for hunting?  Where are you going?”</p><p>Frida could contain herself no longer.  “I must leave!” she cried.  “Something terrible has happened.  Please don’t ask me anything else.  For your sake and mine!”</p><p>“The Baron?” Babyface began, but her look told him not to continue.  “If you must leave, at least let me get you something to eat!”  He frantically searched the pantry and the cupboards, coming up with half a dozen rolls and a few apples.  These he dropped into Frida’s shoulder bag.  He took her hands in his.  “I won’t ask.  I’ll learn soon enough in any case.”  His eyes brimmed with tears.  “Please be safe, my sister.  I will call on the Divines daily to look after you.”</p><p>“Count to one hundred when I leave,” choked Frida.  “I should be out of sight by then.  After that, call the Abbess.  Do as you see right.”  She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.  “Remember.  You are my brother.  I am your sister.  Now and always, truly and forever, you are a part of me and I am a part of you!”</p><p>Then she was gone.</p><p>Though she chose not to tell Babyface which way she was running, she headed north.  She ran at a full sprint until she was over the pasture and into the woods.  She kept a fast pace all that day, not slowing until she approached the river.  She continued west until she found a ford, which, she noted, was not far from where her home village used to be.</p><p>Days seemed to run together after that:  carefully husbanding her food supply, hunting when she could, avoiding people as much as possible.  She didn’t know if anyone was following her, or what kind of head start she had, so she was afraid to stop anywhere too long.  She didn’t sleep much.  She built cooking fires only a few times, when she was confident they wouldn’t be too visible.  After the river, she found herself moving uphill, and the temperature began falling abruptly as autumn arrived early in that region.  She was shivering, exhausted and hungrier than she ever remembered when she met Sigi and her husband.  And now she was sure Sigi and her husband were about to share her fate.</p><p>Armand listened to the young woman sitting before him without interrupting.  At every pause or hesitation, he would nod or raise his eyebrows as if to say, “Yes, go on, please.”  Finally, when it seemed that the young woman could say nothing more, he said simply, “So, you killed Baron Axel?”</p><p>The young woman looked down at the floor.  “I did kill him,” she said quietly.  Then she looked up again, her face defiant.  “What could I have done?  He wished to violate me!  If I should die for this, then let it be so!”  Then, more quietly:  “But please leave my friends be.  They are not part of this.”</p><p>Armand sighed, then smiled sadly at the young woman.  “Do not worry.  I have no intention of harming your friends.  Lord Hakkon dispatched me to find out what happened to you, and I’ve done that.  I believe your story, as it matches what my witnesses told me.”</p><p>“Witnesses?” said the young woman.  “I was sure no-one saw us.”</p><p>“Perhaps you met Baron Axel’s two bully boys?  They saw, from a distance, and required very little persuasion to be truthful.”  He leaned forward.  “Lord Hakkon has stated that if I found you, and if your testimony matched that of the bully boys, he would declare you innocent of any wrongdoing.  I will inform Lord Hakkon, and he will keep his word.”</p><p>“So I may return home?”</p><p>“Unfortunately, I would not advise it, at least for now.  Nobody mourns Baron Axel; men such as he have no friends.  But they do have allies.  There are those who profited by Axel’s existence, and may wish to avenge him.  No-one will look for you here, but it would be dangerous for you to return home, maybe for some years.”</p><p>“So I am condemned to remain here, then?”  The young woman was crestfallen.</p><p>“Condemned?” Sigi looked somewhat indignant.  “Condemned?  You know you are <em>välkommen</em>.  Of course you will remain with us.  Astrid, Frida, whatever your name is, you are part of us now.”</p><p>The young woman blushed.  “I was born Astrid.  I grew up as Frida.  Either way, I am grateful to you.”</p><p>At that point, Armand announced that he was satisfied, and would leave the next morning.  “I will tell Lord Hakkon that justice has been served.”  He then retired to the guestroom.  Sigi split a bottle of wine with Astrid, who slept better that night than she had in weeks.</p><p>The next morning was cool and clear, and Astrid made an early start on the day’s hunt.  She waved at Armand as he rode past her on his way out of the village, politely declining a lift.  Near the gate, she was stopped by the young boy who helped her drag the deer carcass into the village days previously.  “Aren’t you going to stay and watch?”  He was excited.</p><p>“Watch what?” Astrid replied.</p><p>“The general’s coming.  General Tullius is coming here!  And you know who he’s got with him?  Ulfric Stormcloak!  He’s bringing him!  Right here to Helgen!  I can’t wait!”</p><p><em>I can</em>, thought the young woman, and headed through the gate.  Less than an hour later, she heard the roar, but couldn’t quite place the sound.  It was much louder than a bear or a saber cat, and it seemed to come from the village.  <em>How very peculiar</em>.  It was only when she saw the column of smoke that she began to comprehend what was happening.  She scrambled up the hillside, sprinted up the road toward the village, but heat, flame, and smoke stayed her approach.  <em>Sigi!  Sigi!</em>  She wanted to scream, but her voice abandoned her.  Astrid felt her legs give way, and she collapsed in the dust.</p><p>
  
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<h3>Many Years Later</h3><p>An elderly man dressed in scholarly robes knocked on the door of a modest but well-kept townhouse not far from the Blue Palace in Solitude.  A young maid admitted him, carefully examining his calling card.  “Oh yes,” she said.  “The Learned Berndt.  My mistress has been expecting you.  I will alert her immediately.  Please make yourself at home in the sitting-room.”  Berndt found himself a cushioned chair, then removed a thick notebook and a charcoal pencil from his bag.  His mission was part of a much larger research effort:  to construct the most thorough accounting ever attempted of the Dragonborn’s life and adventures.  In particular, he was to speak to as many of the Dragonborn’s friends and companions as could be located, and Lady Astrid Atwater, the Grand Dame of Solitude, the Mother of Orphans, was the last of these.</p><p>With her titles and reputation, Berndt expected a more theatrical entrance, but the grey-haired woman the maid led into the sitting-room struck him as modest, almost common, save for her erect, dignified bearing and her direct gaze.  “Thank you so much for coming, Scholar,” she said as he rose and bowed before her.  “I’ve waited many years to see the story told correctly, and I hope I can do my part in seeing your project through.”</p><p>The maid brought ale for both of them, and Berndt began with his prepared questions, hoping that they could move on to more impromptu topics as the visit progressed.  As Berndt took notes, they spoke of many, many things:</p><p>On meeting the Dragonborn:  <em>We met in Riverwood, not long after the dragon burned Helgen.  I was still in shock, of course, but the Dragonborn wanted help retrieving some important item from a barrow north of the village.  Such charisma!  I could hardly refuse.  From that point forward, I was part of the Dragonborn’s retinue.  An early part, you might say</em>.</p><p>On the rest of the Dragonborn’s party:  <em>There were never more than four or five of us with the Dragonborn at any one time.  Of that number, only three of us stayed until the end.  The first was a housecarl from Whiterun.  A tough, stubborn woman she was, but very loyal.  Honestly, I was a little afraid of her!  The second was a beautiful woman from Solstheim.  What I remember about her was the endless chatter!  I suppose we all got along well enough, but in any group, there’s bound to be a little tension.  With the Dragonborn’s charisma, we were always jostling each other for attention, but I think it was the Solstheim woman who received the most.  I was jealous and wanted to hate her for it, but I couldn’t.  She was just too damned pleasant!</em></p><p>On the thing that amazed her the most:  <em>It’s difficult to name any one thing.  The dragons coming back?  I was a simple girl from the south.  I hadn’t known dragons were ever there in the first place!  Magic?  I’d heard of it, but had never seen it done, not even at the Abbey where I grew up.  It was a power that terrified me, and I tried to avoid it, but at some point I received a pair of bracers that helped me shoot straighter.  Or maybe I just believed they would, and shot straighter because of it!  But maybe the thing that struck me more than any other was how regular, ordinary people could bear such burdens on behalf of humanity.  The Dragonborn never asked to be the Dragonborn.  None of the rest of us had any idea what fate was in store for us.  We had every chance to run away, but we didn’t.  So that, maybe – ordinary people, extraordinary feats.</em></p><p>They spoke for a long time.  After a while, both needed to stretch their legs, so they walked out to the courtyard.  Lady Astrid described how, after their adventure ended, she found herself with a title and a fortune.  After some thought, she decided to use her money to take over the orphanage in Riften.  She opened two more children’s homes after that.  “The war had left so many little ones by themselves.  It broke my heart!  Even with my homes, I couldn’t save them all.  But I did what I could.  We have many benefactors now to keep our homes running.  I’m glad about that, because I’m getting too old to look after them personally!”</p><p>“But there are lots of people who have you to thank,” said Berndt.  “I’ve met a number of them myself.”  Lady Astrid smiled.  “Now, there is one question I wish to ask, but I’m not sure if I have a right to.”  He paused, trying to find the words.</p><p>“Oh, <em>that</em> question!” laughed Lady Astrid.  “No, I never married.  I never seemed to have the time.  Is it not written, Lady Mara commands us to love each other?  Maybe loving the orphans the way a mother loves her children is the love she had in mind for me.”</p><p>“Or maybe, loving them like brothers and sisters,” said Berndt.</p><p>Lady Astrid looked puzzled.  “Perhaps,” she said.</p><p>“That they may be part of each other,” he continued.  Lady Astrid stared, opened her mouth to speak, but remained silent.   “Now and always, truly and forever, you are a part of me and I am a part of you ”</p><p>Lady Astrid’s eyes opened wide.  “Babyface?” she gasped.</p><p>“Frida!  It is you!  It is you!”  They buried themselves in each other’s arms, tears of joy soaking their garments.  They didn’t need to speak for a long, long time.</p>
<h3>THE END</h3><hr/><p> </p><p><strong>A note about the illustrations: </strong> The illustrations themselves are screenshots taken while playing <a href="https://elderscrolls.bethesda.net/en/skyrim?">The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim</a> and Skyrim, Special Edition.  They were edited using Picasa, which, apparently, Google no longer supports, and <a href="https://www.getpaint.net/">Paint.net</a>.  The following user mods were used to create the illustrations:</p>
<ul>
<li>The picture of Astrid in Part I was created using the Young Nord race, which is part of <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/12302/">Enhanced Character Edit</a>, (ECE) by the ECE team.</li>
<li>The exterior shot in Part I was created using <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/5673">Helgen Reborn</a> by Mike Hancho aka Balok.</li>
<li>Interior shots used the <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/33661">Leaf Rest</a> house mod by Aukmat (also available for <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/15191">Skyrim SE</a>)</li>
<li>The ENB preset that adds mood to the screenshots is <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/4743">PRT – PhotoRealistic Tamriel</a> by L00.</li>
<li>Weather effects were added via <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/7895">Dolomite Weathers – Natural Lighting Vivid Atmospherics II</a> by Dr Mega and Kojak747.</li>
<li>The body model used for all the other Astrid/Frida pictures is <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/59341/?">Tania Project- Playable Race for ECE and RM</a>, by Alan81512</li>
<li>The young woman’s hair style is from <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/10168/?">ApachiiSkyHair</a> by Apachii</li>
<li>The young woman was created and stylized using <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/29624/?">RaceMenu</a> by Expired</li>
<li>Poses were accomplished using <a href="https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/28978/?">Pretty Motion Collection</a> by Dualsun</li>
<li>Note:  Per the <a href="http://en.uesp.net/wiki/Lore:Redguard_Names">Unofficial Elder Scrolls Pages</a>, Armand is the name of a Redguard character that appears in Skyrim, though I can’t recall where.</li>
</ul><p> </p>
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